


Bedraggled flowers

by slaughtermom



Series: Second Times the Charm [5]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 06:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19847416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slaughtermom/pseuds/slaughtermom





	Bedraggled flowers

The flowers were bedraggled at best. Wilted stems, bruised blooms; they sat sadly in the little vase (a gift from Hawke on one of her spelunking adventures into Maker knew where.) Aveline watched a petal give up its fight with gravity and slowly drift to the table below. Donnic had been crestfallen when he showed up with them at her little house at the edge of Hightown and sporting an impressive black eye.

A fight in Lowtown, he said bluntly – hand raised to hold off the questions his captain nee lover would have. A card game gone wrong, the culprits were in holding; Maker could they talk about anything ANYTHING else.

Blunt fingernails traced Donnic’s back. Deeply tanned skin marked by freckles and the scars of his near death encounter under Jeven. Brow pulled together at his grunt before sleep and a bed not in the barracks lulled him back to sleep. There were rumors the disgraced captain was gathering likeminded people. Free Marchers dissatisfied with the change in status quo. Aveline had no illusions that she’d gotten rid of all the corruption. The disastrous end to the Qunari occupation was proof enough of that.

“I can hear you thinking.” Donnic leaned up on his elbows to look at her through too long hair. “Where have you gone love?”

She liked that. The tender words, the man in her bed. It wasn’t perfect – nothing ever was, but it was right. Aveline shook her head. “Jeven, the rumors about an uprising. Meredith blocking the nobles from appointing a new Viscount…”

He yawned, rolling to his back and reaching out to pull her astride him with a sneaky surprising amount of strength. Rough hands ran gently down her sides and back up, rucking the fabric of her shirt to press the pads of his fingers over her hips.

Aveline raised a brow. He was half hard and quickening by the minute. Surely he wasn’t… “You haven’t the stamina and you know it.”

That effortless strength had her under him in a moment and lips pressed to the delicate skin under her earlobe. “I’m a Free Marcher,” Donnic said after a moment. “We always rise to the occasion.”


End file.
